Love on BASF

[imomus]

The Hospital in London's Covent Garden is showing Iain Forsyth and Jane Pollard's film, Anyone Else Isn't You until 2nd July. Like Iain and Jane's last two films, the piece presents people talking about mix tapes they've made for lovers. The theme seems to be in the air: last month Thurston Moore published a book entitled Mix Tape: The Art of Cassette Culture. Here's Salon's piece on Thurston's book, and here's Thurston himself talking about it on NPR.



Iain and Jane's film is attracting just as much attention on the other side of the pond. Last month, when I was working on a text for the show, I blogged about the show here on Click Opera. I thought today I'd sling the text itself up here for those of you who can't make it to Covent Garden. I opted for a "compilation" format: a sequence of obliquely-related phrases expressing polymorphous and contradictory feelings about the theme, which isn't just love but how we mediate it, and ourselves. (I'll see the film in situ this Monday when I pass through London on the way to my own art show in New York.)

One thought in the Salon piece about Thurston's book echoes my entry yesterday about Simon Reynolds and the museumization of pop music: "That the book was published at all argues that the era of the mix tape is over. If it weren't, then why put out a book about it?" Of course, it's always possible that things have to die to begin a second life... as art.



The music is all that matters and love is everything

The music's all that matters.

Love is everything.

No, wait, those can't both be true.

The music about love is all that matters, because love is everything.

That's better.

I love you.

I love the music that reminds me of you.

It's all that matters to me, really.

The rest of my life is just bollocks, really.

The art about the music about the love I feel for you is all that matters.

If you left me, I don't know what I'd do.

The art about the music about the love would go too.

The catalogue essay about the art about the music about the love I feel for you would vanish.

And in the middle of investigations you break down.

I've really put all my eggs in one basket, haven't I?

I'm projecting spidery little lines out to infinity.

It's just a crappy pop song, yet it means everything to me.

We're more than the sum of our parts.

It's bigger than both of us.

Extraordinary how potent cheap music is.

Oh Amanda!

Nobody else is you. Everyone knows that feeling.

I can hear the patter of tiny feet, and inside that sound, the patter of even tinier feet.

There's an iPod, and inside the iPod an even tinier iPod.

Oh Ray!

Eternal, transcendental, timeless, trendy.

So melancholy and yet so uplifting.

Spending £57.28 on eternity at HMV Oxford Street.

The foul rag and bone shop of the heart.

I'll never forget you. Like the music, you're all that matters.

Like the art about the music about the love, you're all that matters.

A pink and grey plastic bag and a receipt.

A bus trip.

Do you believe me? Am I getting my feelings across?

Can I come and visit you?

Could I play you a record instead of trying to explain with a catalogue about art about music about love?

He's my favourite singing millionaire, the patron saint of envy and the grocer of despair.

There's definitely definitely definitely no logic to human behaviour.

I listed the bands I liked on my Friendster profile.

I met him on the Sinister list.

This is a song I really, really love. Just listen!

We met at a Primal Scream gig.

I don't think I could love anyone forever who didn't love this forever.

It's like he read my mind without me having to say a word.

She says what I feel deep down better than I ever could.

The unconscious is structured with pop lyrics.

Where a song should be, there are my feelings.

Parkinson's Law of love songs: the love you feel fills to the exact dimensions of the songs you place at its disposal.

Nick Drake, Nick Drake, Nick Drake.

I was walking in a shitty grey industrial landscape, but you took me away, up above the clouds.

I'm making art about the music about the love I feel for you and always will.

Kill all hippies.

It's okay to love Moby, but it's okay to hate Moby too.

Who doesn't love love?

He wanted to write a hundred love songs, but could only muster 69.

It's all you need, over and over.

It's need you love, over and over.

I need to love you, I love to need you.

I want you, but I don't need you.

Over and over.

Girl I'm only doing it to be closer to you.

Transcendental, timeless, like rock and roll, 1956 to two thousand and never.

Anyone else isn't you.

You walked into my life out of my dreams.

If you didn't exist it would be necessary to invent you.

Machiavelli with his tongue in his cheek.

Rhetoric is a means to power.

Schmaltz and Hallmark.

Central casting. Rent-a-lover. Data date.

Whenever I hear Warm Leatherette I think of you.

Quick, let's make love before we die!

The love songs waft up from the flat below.

Prolefeed.

We're none of us so different.

Production and reproduction.

Breeders! Plastics! Normals!

The gap between your slick patter and the way you're puppeted by your DNA.

The intentional fallacy.

Norm serenaded me with a ukelele.

I met Betsy at a Lyons tea room on the esplanade.

The radio played a piece of dumb 80s crap and it became our song.

And before Chaucer, there was a chorus of frogs.

My love is total, what's more I'm all love.

I'm as round and happy as a Toby jug.

The music's all that matters and love is everything.

That bloke at the end of Sartre's Nausea, he hears a jazz record and it all falls into place.

Am I getting through to you?

Will you give me what I want?

Is it bedtime?

Are we nearly there yet?

Press play.

Fuck me.

Reality is very important, and elsewhere.

I'm in you, you're in me.

Gimme your hands!

The boundary between me and music dissolved.

The boundary between me and you got fuzzy.

The boundary between the catalogue and the show and the music and the love got warm and melted.

Do you want a puff on my spliff?

Do you want to touch me there?

You can, you know.

The catalogue essay about the film about the music about the love got a tingly tummy.

I love you.

Now and forever.

But especially now.

Comments

[anti-peace-riot.livejournal.com]

Although I don't wish to get too personal, but have you ever made a mixed tape for someone? If so, what was on it and what was their reaction?

[imomus.livejournal.com]

Actually, there's a case for saying that all my albums are really mix tapes for strangers. The Salon piece says that the technology of the cassette made us all curators and producers, but in my case cassette machines and tapes made me an artist. But the appropriation that was part of the home taping thing (pop eating itself, home taping "killing music", the pomo snake eating its own tail) could be extended from curating to creating. I mean, they were almost the same thing.

To answer your question, though, I don't think I have ever made a mixtape for anyone. I prefer making radio programs (http://www.imomus.com/momusradio.html) or doing letter tapes or talking books. I used to do them for my blind granny: I remember one that had me reading some book, then singing Jacques Brel songs for her: "Don't go away..."

press play & record

[cityramica.livejournal.com]

i used to put "ping pong"-era you on mixtapes.

i adore putting tapes together but that kind of hope can be heartbreaking.

[nickink.livejournal.com]

Your recently donated 'I Refuse To Die' is a splendid closer, I've found. Slim enough to squeeze into that final 2 minute gap and thematically fitting for a final hurrah.

[facehead2k.livejournal.com]

I know there is an internet forum I used to exchange tapes through (and often still do) at http://www.artofthemix.org. That's a large part of how I found out about music outside of whatever mainstream radio edged into rural Wisconsin. I'm pretty sure I first heard your music on a mix tape someone passed to me. I don't know that the mix cd or even file sharing has put an end to the mix tape, but certainly someone must think so to have published a eulogy.

[fortglacial.livejournal.com]

I've been thinking about mixes lately. Personally, I make them all the time, to send to friends who live far away. Funnily, here in Chicago there's going to be an event (http://quimbys.com/events.php) at Quimby's bookstore this weekend, which is going to be all about mix-tapes./exchange.

Mix tapes for lovers

[thetemplekeeper.livejournal.com]

Thanks for including your text for "Anyone Else Isn't You" with today's entry!

The brief Noel Coward parody reminded me of another phrase from "Private Lives," which also reflects the idea of making "mix tapes for lovers" (I don't think I've ever made a mix tape that is specifically designed to say "I love you" over and over): "this orchestra seems to have a remarkably small repertoire."

I've always thought it better to chart (a dreadful joke) the ups and downs of your love in mix tapes for lovers: it's more varied and interesting; and you can arrange your past together into scenes, like an artist arranging models in different poses. That way, too, a mix tape becomes a unified work of art - or schmaltz, or tack - in itself, rather than simply being a collection of other people's art.

Re: Mix tapes for lovers

[imomus.livejournal.com]

"this orchestra seems to have a remarkably small repertoire."

Yes, I was listening to your mix tape today, and I heard that line in between the tracks! It comes just before the famous line about the potency of cheap music. Thanks for the tape, fascinating stuff! (Do we have to get married now?)

Re: Mix tapes for lovers

[thetemplekeeper.livejournal.com]

"(Do we have to get married now?)"

No, let's not do that: we're both wannabe homosexuals; it would all go horribly wrong!

I don't know whether you're willing or able but, rather than marriage (which seems a little extreme: after all, what is a mix tape between consenting adults?), a return mix would be very much appreciated (possibly including some Stereo Total - the only reason "I Love You, Ono" isn't on there is because I saw you've already released it on your own label! My version comes via a CD from Club Ogi or somesuch in Moscow - this is obviously a well-travelled band...)

Re: Mix tapes for lovers

[thetemplekeeper.livejournal.com]

PS: A mix tape from Hisae would be similarly fascinating, I'm sure. I can always send her some camel cigarettes by re-return...

[thetemplekeeper.livejournal.com]

PS: I might well pop over to The Hospital tomorrow and see the exhibition myself.

PPS: Possibly more synchronicity - have your tapes arrived yet?

maybe you'd like to know about...

[sweetnessss.livejournal.com]

http://www.kassettengeschichten.de/

Unfortunately I haven't been to that exhibition, but I have the book. It contains different mixtape stories, and you can listen to the interviews online on this site too.

Re: maybe you'd like to know about...

[imomus.livejournal.com]

Wow, this meme reached Nurnberg!

[transient-poet.livejournal.com]

Make a mixtape, promote new music, go to jail.
NYTimes Article (http://www.nytimes.com/2005/06/16/arts/music/16sann.html?th&emc=th)

[imomus.livejournal.com]

I'd heard about (and deplore) the Kim's bust, but didn't realise that one of the employees jailed was "Craig Willingham, known as I-Sound, whose discography includes "Music Is a Hungry Ghost" (City Slang), a collaboration with the German electronic group To Rococo Rot." It's funny, mixtapes seem to have become "the new grafitti"... with stiffer penalties. It figures: in grafitti the "victim" of the artists' work is buildings and trains. With mix tapes, it's the music industry (and, indirectly, other, richer artists, although it's debateable anyone is hurt by being included on a mix tape — probably the reverse). And they have bigger lawyers than the subway company.

[transient-poet.livejournal.com]

The NYT makes the argument that there is nothing but a net benefit to the record label with mixtapes. "It's just like radio, wow that song is great, I wonder what the album sound like!" But I think there is something a little more devious, everyone hates record labels, its a very popular mindset these days, mucisian and consumers alike, so they have nothing to lose by these actions in that regard. But now with a NYT article how many new listeners will seek out both the mixes and the albums those artists have produced. And all the record label had to do was was call up NYPD and the NYT and ask for some free marketing and publicity.

[thetemplekeeper.livejournal.com]

I find it rather perverse of media corporations to market creativity yet try and stifle its roots or tangents. I remember the rapper KRS-One making an interesting analogy between Egyptian hieroglyphs and graffiti in a track called Out For Fame: "writing on the walls, mixing characters with letters/ to tell the graphic story of their lives, however/ today we do the same thing, with how we rap and draw/ we call it hardcore, they call it breaking the law." I believe his nihilistic answer to the above apparent paradox is that graffiti "hasn't made a billion dollars for some corporation yet." It is a shame we are usually only allowed to indulge in end-product, rather than play games with process.

mixtape/CD

[fascicle.livejournal.com]

ah, if I'd only had a CD burner back when you circulated the pre-release copies
of _Little Red Songbook_. The female LJer with the pre-release gold disc managed
to misplace it before archiving its contents herself, along with a number of books
I loaned her. I do have an analogue mixtape holding the "lost" song, and have
recently acquired an Instant Music converter off dabs.co.uk which should be able
to transform any output from my music tower into digital tracks.

I wonder if WC and lawyers read LJ comments. hmmm.

[(Anonymous)]

nick, it's jesse pearson. yr emailing is bouncing. please get in touch.

hugs n kisses etc.

[(Anonymous)]

Momus, I love you. Please visit my livejournal. http://www.livejournal.com/users/knonnerznmartz/

[mo-no-chrome.livejournal.com]

The mix tape is not dead - its spirit lives on in the mix CD (although the phrase just doesn't trip off the tongue so well).

The iPod and similar, to my mind, are symbolic of 'affluenza', the desire to have more than you can possibly comprehend. Who wants a playlist twelve hours long? Everyone, apparently... But honestly, 80 minutes is a good slice of music for the brain to handle. And although mix CDs don't involve the laborious guesswork of the mixtape duration-wise, this allows all the more attention to be given to selection.

An alternative exhibition text...

[thetemplekeeper.livejournal.com]

...(courtesy of Viv Stanshall)

" I am the Big Shot.

"You heard me right the first time. Name of batchelor Johnny Cool. Occupation: Big Shot. Occupation at the moment: just having fun. What a party that was - the drinks were loaded and so were the dolls.

"I narrowed my eyes and poured a stiff Manhattan. Then I saw... Hotsie. What a dame. A big, bountiful babe in the region of 48-23-38. One hell of a region. She had the hottest lips since Hiroshima: I had to stand back for fear of being burned. "Whiskey wow wow," I breathed. She was dressed as Biffo the Bear. In that kind of outfit she could get rolled at night... and I don't mean on a crap table.

"It's kind of revealing, isn't it? Revealing? It's positively risque - I like it. She said: "You're a man with a thousand Gs, right?"
"A thousand what?" I quipped. "G-men, girls, guns, guts."
"You're my type."
"Wrong, baby" I slapped her hard. "I'm a `L' man: strictly liquor, love and laughs."

"She stared over my shoulder: "Play it cool, Johnny." Play it what? I flipped. "Listen, I fought my way up from tough East Side New York. Lead-filled saps and sub-machine guns, like this." [gunshots]

"She said: "Johnny, this is a deadly game, have a few laughs and go home." I shuddered. Normally I pack a rod in pyjamas. I carry nothing but scars from Normandy beach. I said "Wrong, baby, you can't fool me." She spat playfully. "I'm ahead of you, Johnny." I studied the swell of her enormous boobs and said: "Baby, you're so far ahead it's beautiful."

[orgasmic saxophone solo]

"You... you are... you are eccentric, I like that."
"Electric cheri, bonk off my rocket, tu comprends?" We spoke French fluently. Our lips met again and again. "Yeah, yeah, yeah!" I slobbered. Hotsie said: "You're slobbering all over the seat, kid."

"I went home late. Very late. What could I say to my wife? "Darling, I've been beaten up again." Let's face it, she's credulous as hell.

"A punk stopped me on the street. He said, "you got a light, Mac?" I said, "no, but I've got a dark brown overcoat."

OT: Brother, Can you Spare an Eye Patch?

[(Anonymous)]

This is off topic, and, well, strange, but I hurt my eye and have to have it covered for a few days, like you, I live in Friedershain, if you have a spare eye patch, can I borrow one?

In return I can:

a) provide computer assistance
b) teach you how to win any economics argument with a few basic fundamentals
c) buy you a drink

my email address is dk at trick dot ca.

Let me know if you can help.

Thanks in anycase, hope you don't think I'm a loon,
Dmytri Kleiner.

[glowingwhispers.livejournal.com]

Ever checked out the 'Mix Tape' offered at White Noise? I'd recommend it.


(http://www.whitenoisemagazine.com/)